The Burglar on the Prowl - By Lawrence Block Page 0,87

what you figured?”

I should have expected something like this, given the run of coincidence I’d had all along. And it was a common name, which was why I’d picked it for my safe-deposit box. Even so, I hadn’t expected it to come up less than an hour after my first visit to the box in ages.

“It couldn’t be the same William Johnson,” I said. “The reason I reacted—”

“I’ll say you reacted. You looked like you swallowed a bad clam.”

“That was my scoutmaster’s name when I was in the Boy Scouts, Ray. William Johnson. I was just thinking of him not an hour ago.”

“Yeah?”

“And he got in trouble, so he could have had a sheet. But it wasn’t in New York, so I don’t think it could be the same man. How old is the one who left his prints on the shaver?”

“Thirty-four.”

“Different person. The man I knew, well, he’d have to be in his sixties by now. This one has a record? I can’t say I’m surprised.”

“What do you know about him, Bernie?”

“Until a minute ago,” I said, “I didn’t even know his name.”

He looked at me for a moment, then shrugged. “Okay,” he said. “I ain’t sayin’ I believe you, but you found that book about the quarterback, so maybe you know what you’re doin’. This Johnson’s been arrested half a dozen times, charged with assault an’ menacin’ an’ a few counts of disorderly conduct. What he is, he’s a pain in the ass.”

“Has he done time?”

“You only do time if you’re convicted. He never even went to trial. His uncle’s Michael Quattrone, an’ I think you probably heard of him.”

“Investments,” I said.

“That’s what he calls it. He’s been associated with some boiler-room operations over the years, where they got a bunch of guys workin’ the phones, lettin’ you in on the ground floor for some stock they’re pushin’. Soon as you bite it goes straight to the basement. Guy’s mobbed up, an’ we think he’s runnin’ a laundry for his friends.”

“Laundering money, you mean.”

“You want to get your shirts washed, take ’em to the Chinaman down the street. You want to make some drug money look like you came by it honest, maybe Quattrone can help you out. No indication this Johnson’s a part of it, beyond takin’ a desk an’ phone in the boiler room now an’ then. He’s Quattrone’s sister’s kid, an’ that means anytime we pick him up he gets a lawyer who’s real good at makin’ charges go away. Mostly he picks up jobs when he needs ’em, workin’ for a truckin’ company, or as a bouncer at a nightclub.”

“A mover and shaker,” I said. “You happen to know where he lives?”

“Last address we got’s in the West Fifties. You want it?”

When Ray had left, after reminding me that he wanted to be there at rabbit-pulling time, I hauled out the phone book and had a look. There was no shortage of Johnsons, and a fair number of them were Johnson William or Johnson W, but none showed the West 53rd Street address Ray had supplied. I wasn’t hugely surprised. Johnson’s last address was almost three years ago, and somehow I didn’t see him as the type to stay in one place long enough to put down roots.

I picked up the John Sandford novel, found my place, and stepped right back into the more logical world of Lucas Davenport. But I had to leave after a couple of pages, because it was time for my lunch with Marty.

Thirty-Two

The Pretenders have a rule against conducting business on club premises. Obviously they don’t monitor conversations at the bar or around the billiard table to make sure no one’s talking about auditions or offering a look at a script. What they want to avoid is the appearance that business is being done, and toward that end they make you check your briefcase at the door. Accordingly, I’d left the attaché case at the shop, having transferred Marty’s share to a pair of plain white envelopes. I handed them to him once we were settled in with our drinks.

“These are yours,” I said, and he lifted the flap on one just enough to see that it was full of currency. His eyes widened the slightest bit, and he put the envelopes in his pockets and patted them through the fabric of his suit jacket.

“Now there’s a surprise,” he said. “I hadn’t even known you’d, uh, taken up the good fight.”

“Friday night.”

“Extraordinary. And I gather you were successful. Highly